With Great Power Comes A Great Paycheck, Benefits, Dental, And A 401K
by JoeNobody
Summary: A group of would-be villains and henchmen decide they'd rather not join the Long Pajamas crowd and instead go corporate. But they need Tony's help...
1. Chapter 1

**With Great Power Comes A Great Paycheck, Benefits, Dental, And A 401(K)**

 _Author's note: this isn't really an "Iron Man" story per se. I just had a few ideas about how things might really play out in a world with superhumans, and needed someone like Tony Stark as a sounding board to bounce my ideas off._

Tony Stark glared at his desk. CEO, superhero – he still had way, way too much paperwork to wade through. Not even the gift of being a genius billionaire playboy philanthropist excused him from the tedium.

A glinting off to the side caught his eye. A silvery envelope that he swore hadn't been there a few minutes ago was sitting on the edge of his desk. He picked it up, and watched as it dissolved into thin air at his touch, dropping a small piece of paper onto his desk. He picked it up and unfolded it.

 _Dear Mr. Stark:_

 _I represent a small group of people with unique and special gifts, skills, knowledge, and abilities. We would greatly appreciate a meeting to discuss matters of mutual concern and profit. Please contact me at the below email address at your convenience._

Tony snorted and crumpled up the paper before tossing it into the trash. He didn't have time for this kind of crap.

Half an hour later, another silvery envelope caught his eye. Once again it vaporized at his touch, dropping a second note.

 _Dear Mr. Stark:_

 _I and my associates would tremendously appreciate an opportunity to discuss matters of mutual interest and benefit with you or, if you prefer, a representative. We anticipate that we would need no more than 30 minutes, and can be at a time and place of your choosing. My email address is below._

The second note joined the first in the trash.

Another half an hour passed, and a third note appeared.

 _Dear Mr. Stark:_

 _We would be very grateful if you could spare a half hour of either your time or the time of a representative you trust to discuss a matter that could have grave consequences for the world, in addition to being a tremendous opportunity for profit both for you and ourselves. Please contact me at the email below._

Tony sighed. It looked like this correspondent wasn't going to give up any time soon, and the novelty of the vanishing envelopes had lost its entertainment value. He fired off a a quick response:

 _Be at the west entrance of Stark International's Long Island facility at 2:00 on Thursday afternoon. You will have 30 minutes to persuade me that you are not wasting my time._

Tony glanced at the clock as the rather nondescript man was led into his office. 3:15 – the stranger had put up with over an hour of delay and runarounds before being let in to see Tony (a delay Tony had deliberately engineered). That, plus the deliberately humiliating screening process, indicated that this was fairly important to the guy. Tony took out a timer and set it for 25 minutes.

"OK, you've got half an hour. Make your point, and make it quick."

The guest smiled at the short timer. "Mr. Stark, my name is Xander Bell" – Tony snorted at the obviously fake name – "and as I said, I represent a group of people of unique abilities, skills, and knowledge. In brief, we are the sort of people who have traditionally become low-level heroes and villains, and occasionally henchmen. And we have decided that we don't find that career path appealing. Instead, we think we'd rather work for you."

Tony scowled. "So, to keep you from becoming low-level thugs, I should pay you to stay on the straight and narrow. Well, Mr. Bell, thank you for wasting my time."

Bell smiled. "Mr. Stark, blackmail was the furthest thing from our minds. As I said, we think that this could be a mutually beneficial relationship, quite profitable to both sides. May I continue?"

Tony settled back. He still thought this was going to be a sophisticated shakedown, but he'd already written off the time.

"Think back to the early days of superheroes, Mr. Stark. Think of the early villains – men like the Vulture, the Sandman, the Vanisher, the Juggernaut. Men of exceptional abilities and extremely limited vision. They contented themselves on small-scale robberies and petty revenge, and wasted their exceptional resources on such limited gains.

"Imagine for a moment if the Vulture, instead of robbing banks and jewelry stores, had instead gone to the military – or, better, a defense contractor – and said 'I have developed a suit that lets a man fly silently and stealthily even through such tightly contained spaces as the sewers. Further, it even lets a man of my advanced age go toe-to-toe in a fight with someone as strong and fast and tough as Spider-Man. How much could he have made from that decision?

"Or the Sandman. In the early days, Iron Man was your bodyguard. How much would one of your business peers have paid for the services of a bodyguard of his abilities? Especially the ability to form a stone-like shell around the protectee?

"The Vanisher. How valuable to the business world would a courier be who can guarantee parcel delivery that is almost instantaneous, with no risk whatsoever of interception or compromise?

"Or my favorite, the Juggernaut. Imagine how things might have turned out if someone had gone to him and said 'we'd like to pay you to work in the demolition business. And, on occasion, we'd like you to to down to Fort Knox-"

Tony raised an eyebrow. "You think it would be a good idea to take Juggernaut down to Fort Knox?"

Bell smiled. "Absolutely. Because, in addition to being the nation's gold repository, Fort Knox is where the Army trains its tank and helicopter crews. Imagine this for a minute – 'Lieutenant, I'd like to introduce you to your new self-propelled, autonomous live-fire target. And in addition to being very well paid, Mr. Juggernaut here has been assured that for every time you and your men shoot at him and miss, you will personally buy him a six-pack of beer.' You've met the Juggernaut on several occasions – how much do you think he'd enjoy the chance to roughhouse with tanks and helicopters, run around and smash up other targets, rip the hell out of the live-fire ranges, and drink beer with soldiers and Marines? While not only not worrying about superheroes and cops, but getting handsomely paid to do so?"

Tony leaned back in his seat. "You raise some interesting points, Mr. Bell. Are you saying that you and your friends are in the same league as those villains?"

Bell smiled. "Maybe, maybe not. We'd rather not find out. We aren't looking for excitement, we're looking for decent paychecks and lives not spent looking over our shoulders."

"But why me, Mr. Bell? Aren't there are other people and organizations out there that would be glad to scoop you people up? Who are already well-known for such things?"

Bell nodded. "Like Dr. Doom, AIM, Hydra, and the like. Yes, they are always looking for people like us. We looked into them, and decided 'no way in hell.'"

"What led you to that conclusion?"

"Several factors, Mr. Stark. For one, such groups have a disturbing tendency towards a zero-tolerance policy towards poor job performance – 'you have failed me for the last time' and all that. We would rather deal with an HR department that believes in suspensions, demotions, and firings instead of torture and execution.

"For another, such groups tend to be on the authorities' hit lists, and busted up fairly regularly. In such cases, the best people like us can hope for is sudden unemployment with a rather dark mark on our resumes. Far more common is jail terms. That's precisely the kind of excitement we want to avoid."

"Valid points, Mr. Bell. But that explains why not them. I am curious why me."

"You are a unique individual, Mr. Stark. We are looking to cross over from two different worlds – the world of superheroes and super-villains into the world of big business. You are a major figure in both those worlds, known and respected and trusted by both. You, better than anyone, can help us avoid the former and obtain gainful employment in the latter."

Tony nodded. "So, your idea is that I set up a metahuman think tank division within Stark International – with you in charge, of course – and"

Bell burst out laughing. "Mr. Stark, I don't think you could pay me enough to be in charge. No, what I want is a steady paycheck and a steady schedule. I love the idea of clocking out at the end of the day and going home, leaving it all behind until the next morning. Let someone else – someone you know and trust – have the title and the headaches and the responsibilities.

"No, my idea is that we'd be employees, and everything we produce would be considered 'work-for-hire,' with you owning it all. We'd be salaried, with incentives for usable products and services we develop, and possibly bonuses for recruiting new people, but you'd own the whole thing, and could develop it or license it out as you see fit. After all, you've made billions doing that already; why would we think we'd do better?"

The timer went off. Without even looking, Tony swept it into a drawer.

Tony found himself nodding. "And you and your people would agree to all that? Along with very thorough background checks, limits on your conduct both on and off the clock, giving away the rights to their products and services..."

Bell nodded. "Absolutely. Because, as we said, mutually profitable. We trust you to know that it would be more profitable to keep us happy and productive, and very bad for your reputation if you were to screw us over. And we want you to trust us that we really, really just want a bit of peace and quiet and security in our lives while still using our gifts for our personal benefit."

Tony frowned. "But another point you brought up about AIM and Doom – how they tend to be targeted by the authorities on occasion, and how disruptive that is. I've been known to be a target myself. Have you considered how that might affect your plan?"

Bell smiled sheepishly. "Yes, we have. And you might not care to hear our conclusions."

Tony smiled without humor. "Indulge me."

Bell sighed. "We've studied your past quite thoroughly, and yes, you have been targeted in the past – sometimes quite successfully. But our conclusion is that it likely wouldn't affect us significantly."

Tony cocked an eyebrow. "I cannot wait to hear this."

Bell squirmed. "Well, Mr. Stark, those attacks on you in the past have focused in two areas: destroying you personally, and taking your company away from you. In the first case, the attacks have been aimed at you and those closest to you and most loyal to you and most important to you. Quite frankly we don't expect or even want that kind of status, so we would be 'off the radar' for those kinds of attacks."

Tony nodded. "Logical. And the takeovers?"

"Again, those targeted are those most important and most loyal to you. Our goal is to be a small but profitable division, nowhere near as important as some of your other aspects. Should there be another hostile takeover, we expect that we would simply continue to do our work without interruption until you once again take back your company."

"Again, logical. Mr. Bell, it appears you have indeed done your homework. You've given me much to consider. I will have to discuss this with some of my people, but you've made a very good presentation. I assume that your email address will still be valid for at least another week or so?" Bell nodded. "Thank you for bringing this to me, and you will hear back from my people within a week or so." Bell stood up. "By the way, that way you delivered your note – not bad."

Bell smiled shyly. "Just a little something I whipped up. I bet you already thought of half a dozen ways you could do the same thing."

Tony gave a smile of false modesty in return. "Nine, actually."

"Wow. Nine. I guess that's why you're the billionaire, and I'm the guy looking for a job. He then gave a sly smile of his own. "Just wondering... of those nine ways, how many could be built in the average guy's garage, with less than $300 worth of off-the-shelf parts?"

Tony's jaw dropped, but he covered it by pushing a button and summoning a security guard. "Jenkins, please show Mr. Bell out."

"Thank you for your time, Mr. Stark, and I look forward to hearing back from you."

"And you definitely will, Mr. Bell. Even if I don't accept your proposal, I can think of a few people who might be inclined to take on you and your associates. And let me repeat – I am very impressed with what you and your associates have put together. In fact, I find myself a little embarrassed that I didn't come up with such a plan myself years ago."


	2. Chapter 2

_**Author's Note:** This was supposed to be a quick little one-off where I make fun of some of the completely unrealistic aspects of comic books. But some recent health issues have given me a bit more free time than I'm used to, and this little story kept preying at my subconscious. I have two more chapters already written, and I have a sneaking suspicion more ideas might develop..._

Chapter 2

Tony Stark almost skipped as he took to the podium. "Ladies and gentlemen and others of the press, thank you all for coming today for my little presentation. I'm sure you have much better things to do – I know I certainly do – but I appreciate you showing up almost as much as you appreciate my doing so."  
There were a few chuckles. "Today I am announcing a new division within Stark International – Stark Super Solutions."

He paused. "A little while ago, I was approached by a group of people of exceptional abilities and skills. These were people with, to put it bluntly, superhuman gifts who had no interest in joining the spandex and cape crowds – on either side. They wanted a way they could use their abilities safely, legally, for the benefit of humanity, and – most importantly – profitably. So they came to me."

The reporters started chattering, but Tony ignored them. "Please, save your questions for the end. As I was saying, they wanted a way to use their abilities without all the hassle and danger and excitement of putting on the outfit and going out to save – or conquer – or destroy – the world. So they came to me, and we worked out a way we think will achieve those ends. And, might I add, make a little money for them and me."

"Stark Super Solutions will be an outside consulting firm for organizations – and, occasionally, individuals – who find themselves in need of a little superhuman assistance. Nothing illegal or dangerous, of course – wouldn't want to infringe on the work of fine people like the Avengers or the X-Men or Spider-Man or the like – but more mundane needs."

Tony gestured to the edge of the stage, and a man in a jumpsuit walked out uncomfortably. The suit looked like a typical superhero outfit, with blurry motion lines and a mask, but it had two incongruous elements. Over the left breast was an SSS logo, across the back was the Stark International logo, and he was wearing a catcher's mitt on his left hand.

"This is Newton. Newton has the superhuman ability to absorb, store, and redirect kinetic energy. May we demonstrate?" Newton shakily raised the catcher's mitt as Tony pulled out what looked like a small cannon and aimed it at Newton. He pulled the trigger, and a baseball traveling far faster than any human could manage launched itself at Newton's hand.

An instant before it hit the mitt, it suddenly lost nearly all its momentum, and gently plopped into the mitt. "Now that he's charged up, so to speak, now let's see the other aspect of his gifts." Newton reached into a pouch at his waist and pulled out a ball bearing. Meanwhile, one of Tony's assistants pulled back a curtain to reveal a log about a foot around and six feet long, the cut end facing Newton.

Newton balanced the ball bearing on his palm and raised it up to his eyes, directly in line with the long, then turned and nodded at Tony. "Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll pay close attention to the ball bearing..."

When Tony nodded back, Newton turned back to the ball bearing and stared at it. A second later, the bearing launched itself from his palm and embedded itself into the log, leaving a loud CRACK as it flew.

"Yes, ladies and gentlemen, that was the sound of that ball bearing breaking the speed of sound as it flew literally faster than a speeding bullet. And judging by previous experiments, that bearing is buried about four feet into the log."

"We have already spoken with several small firms about contracting Mr. Newton''s services. They specialize in developing new forms of safety equipment, and using him to test such new products as body armor, vehicular armor, bulletproof glass, and other such devices could save them a considerable amount over investing in mechanical devices to do what he does naturally."

The press started murmuring again. "Please, save the questions. Now Newton here is one of our few public representatives. Most of the others will be working behind the scenes, out of public view."

"Our intention is to , generally, provide 'black box' services. By that, I mean we will not be transparent to our clients or to the public. People will present us with problems, we will present them with solutions. Our methods for doing so will remain a trade secret."

"OK, I think I've spoken enough. Now you can ask your questions. Yes, you in the brown coat and stained tie."

"Mr. Stark, you said your people have no interest in the cape and tights world, but here's a man in a superhero suit. Would you care to explain that?"

"How astute of you to catch that. Yes, Newton here is in tights and a mask. And yes, 'Newton' is not his real name, but a reference to the Newton as a unit of measure of force. But he's certainly not a superhero – or even a supervillain.

"As I said, he's one of our 'public' associates. As such, he will be using his abilities around other people. But as the whole point of SSS is for people like him to use his abilities safely and legally and profitably, this helps keep his 'secret identity' a secret. He'll only be wearing this when in public. He doesn't even like it that much – go ahead and ask him."

Newton stared at his feet and squirmed. "Yeah, it's kind of embarrassing. My wife says she likes it, but I still feel like I'm running around in my underwear. And people keep calling me 'Fig.'" The room erupted in laughter.

"Mr. Newton, what's with the catcher's mitt?"

Tony took that question. "It's just 'Newton' – his real name is private. And the mitt is because he's still learning to master his powers. To charge him up, we routinely fire baseballs and other objects at him at high speed, and the mitt is to protect his hand in case his powers don't stop it in time. So far, he hasn't once needed to mitt's protection, but we believe in safety first." He turned towards the man in the jumpsuit. "OK, Newton, you can go and get out of your monkey suit." Newton left the stage with visible relief.

"Now, Newton is merely the first of what we expect will be several public representatives. We will introduce you to the rest of them as they are ready. But we have numerous other employees who are ready to help clients in less demonstrative ways.

"Oh, ,and one more point: we are definitely looking for new people. If you or someone you know has some special gifts and wants to avoid the whole superhero/supervillain rigamarole, and wouldn't mind using your gifts to make a difference and a decent paycheck, get in touch with us. As Newton and his friends pointed out to me when they contacted me, things could have been a lot different if Stark Super Solutions had been around when people like the Vulture, the Juggernaut, Mysterio, Sandman, or the Wizard had started on their lives of crime. And make no mistake about it – a significant portion of our mission is to find these would-be supervillains and give them a good reason to turn away from a life of crime."

Tony looked at his watch. "Gosh, look at the time. Gotta run. Anyway, there are press packets at the back, refreshments in the hall. Thank you all for coming."


	3. Chapter 3

_OK, this is the last I've written on this subject. But I'm going to hold off marking it "complete" for a little while, because I thought I was done after the first chapter..._

Chapter 3

Newton strode into his boss's office, shoving his mask back in disgust.

"So, Dave, how do you think it went out there?"

Newton glared at the suit. "I felt like a complete idiot out there, with everyone gawking and trying not to laugh at me." He paused. "So I guess that means I did it right?"

Tom laughed warmly. "You did great. You totally sold the awkward, embarrassed, kinda clumsy but likable Joe Sixpack image we needed you to project."

Dave (alias "Newton") smiled back. Yeah, I had my doubts about that the line about my wife, but the PR guys were right – it went over just like they said it would. And the catcher's mitt thing? I haven't needed anything like that since I was 14, but it really helped sell the whole package."

Tom nodded. "Yeah, we gotta keep reinforcing Newton's public persona – nice, average guy with powers he's still learning how to use, but wants to use them to help people. While, of course, avoiding any real excitement and going home each night to his wife, 2.2 kids, and dog."

"And getting a paycheck every other Friday, Tom. Don't forget that – it's the most important part."

"Yup. And the last thing we need is for anyone to connect Newton from Stark Super Solutions to The Rifleman, the superhuman wanna-be hit man for hire."

Dave looked down and pursed his lips. "Tom, you know I never actually took any contracts, or even tried to kill anyone, right? I mean, I did a few meetings and talked tough and did some demos of my powers, but no one ever hired me."

Tom put a hand on Dave's shoulder. "Yeah, Dave, we know. Believe me, we checked you out more thoroughly than the boss's dates. If we had the slightest doubt, you'd be in prison right now, instead of here."

"I just couldn't see any other way to make a living with my powers. And while I got 'em pretty under control, I couldn't just pretend they didn't exist. I didn't like the idea, but it seemed like the perfect use for 'em was as a hit man."

"Yeah, they do make you pretty much a walking gun. But not every gun has to be used for murder. Hell, you don't even have to be a gun. We're talking with a few companies right now that have some really interesting problems. One's a rocket company what wants to do some aerodynamic tests on some designs, one's a munitions maker that has some weird ideas about artillery shells, and there's this guy in Kansas who insists he's going to revolutionize the body-armor field. And you, my friend, are cheaper than a wind tunnel, safer than a howitzer, and far more flexible than a machine gun."

Dave smiled. "Those sound like fun. So I get to launch some model rockets, toss some artillery shells, and fire Bbs at armor plates? And get paid for it?"

Tom chuckled. "Not exactly. The guy in Kansas is being pretty cagey, but I get the idea that they aren't armor plates like we think of them. Also, you're not getting paid for it. We get paid, and then we pay you."

Dave nodded. "Close enough for me. Hey, any word yet about my friend Hank?"

Tom sighed. "Yeah, but it's not looking good."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean everything you told us checked out. From our investigation, he's strong, he's tough, and he's working as an enforcer for the Kingpin. That last part is bad, but from what we've discovered he hasn't really done anything really bad so far. He's roughed up a few people, but nothing serious, and they aren't the type to complain. So he's really not that far out of our parameters."

Dave could tell there was more. "So, what's the problem?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders. "There are two. First up, the Kingpin has a rather aggressive employee-retention policy. Your friend is a really small fish, but Fisk isn't exactly the parting-gits and two weeks' severance type. So that could be a problem. But more importantly, we really can't figure out how we could use his gifts."

"He's pretty strong, and he's pretty tough..."

"Yeah, but so are a lot of other people. He's not that much stronger and that much tougher than a normal person, and he's not an especially skilled fighter. The best we could offer would be a referral to a boxing or wrestling program as a sparring partner, and I'm afraid that if the Kingpin's people wanted to get him, they'd have little problem in finding him. Hell, even the Hollywood stunt people are feeling squeezed, between metahumans and computer graphics."

Dave shook his head. "I was afraid of that, but thanks for trying." He headed for the door.

"Just keep your eyes and ears open, Dave. You've brought in some good people. Bill's coming along nicely, and Susie is turning into a real all-star." He hesitated, but continued. "And when you came to be about Hank, I could tell you were pretty sure it wouldn't work. You did a good job selling him, but I knew you already were half-convinced it wouldn't work."

Dave turned back, irritated with himself. "Yeah, but I told him I'd try."

"And you did. It's nothing against him, it's just we aren't running a charity here. Everyone has to pull their own weight, earn their way, and he just isn't qualified." Tom pulled a business card out of his desk. "Here, give him this card. This guy has some pretty good contacts with the fighting community. He might know of someone out of the way who can use him." He paused as a thought struck him. "You know, if he's willing to relocate, there are some up-and-coming martial arts schools in Southeast Asia who might be able to use him. He could probably make some decent money in Thailand or Viet Nam or the Philippines as a sparring partner."

Dave took the card. "Thanks. I dunno if Hank's willing to go halfway around the world, but I'll at least give him the chance." He left.

Tom yelled at his departing back. "Don't forget to turn in the costume for dry cleaning!"


	4. Chapter 4

_OK, I still have no idea if this story is done with me, but another chapter popped into my head._

Chapter 4

Tony Stark looked over his desk at his vaguely uncomfortable underling. "Tom, it's been six months since I put you in charge of Stark Super Solutions. How would you say you've done?"

Tom squirmed. "Overall, we've had some good successes, and only a couple of failures. One hire didn't work out, but he agreed it wasn't a good fit, and we parted amicably. We've failed on a couple of assignments, but nothing disastrous. In one case, we and the client both agreed there wasn't an answer. In another, one of their people had an insight three days after they signed the contract, and we had to eat that one a little. Only a couple of times did we flop, and each time we did right by the client and parted on good terms. So, when you look at the big picture, boss, I'd say..."

Tony interrupted. "Bottom line, Tom. Dollars and cents. How have you done budget-wise?"

Tom sighed. "If you remember, we were projected to lose 7% in the first six months. I double-checked the numbers last night, and it's 8.1%."

Tony shook his head. "Tom, I'm disappointed."

"Look, boss, there really isn't a good model for this sort of thing. The closest is Damage Control..."

"Which I co-founded..."

"...which you co-founded, and even that isn't a good parallel. You know I believe in this 110%..."

"100%. You know I hate that cliché."

"Right, 100%, and I know it can work, but it just needs a little more time."

"Tom, that's not what I'm disappointed about. What's my favorite trick on budgets and expectations?"

Tom's jaw dropped. "You gave me bad numbers?"

"And you fell for it. Of all the people working for me, I was sure you'd see through my bogus projections, but you fell for it. Very disappointing, Tom." Tony handed over a sheet of paper.

Tom gawked at the sheet. "You expected 9% losses? You told me seven!"

"Of course I told you seven. Hope for the best, plan for the worst. I was sure you'd see through it, but the best I'd hoped for was keeping the real numbers from you."

"I dunno if I'm more annoyed with you for pulling that one, or me for falling for it."

Tony grinned. "Why not both?"

"So, I'm not in trouble?"

"Don't get hasty, Tom. You're still losing money. My money."

Tom smiled. "Yeah, but you expected that, and I lost less than you projected. And we haven't had a single disaster so far, so we've got that going for us."

"No disasters – yet."

Tom reluctantly nodded. "Yet."

"No sense asking for trouble. So, any issues you anticipate arising in the next six months?"

"Nothing earth-shattering – literally or figuratively – but I'm seeing some recruiting issues on the horizon."

"Like what?"

"Now that word's getting out about is, and we're developing a reputation for giving metahumans with powers a chance to use them safely, legally, and – most important – profitably, we're getting more applications from low-end villains and henchmen."

Tony frowned. "With criminal records?"

Tom nodded. "Even one or two currently wanted. And I think they're sincere about getting out of the life."

Tony sighed. "I'm working on it, Tom, but I haven't gotten anywhere. The feds are playing hardball – we hire anyone with a metahuman criminal history, we can kiss goodbye our federal contracts and our security clearances. And if I were to hire someone wanted, it'd be even worse."

"I had to ask. So, keep following the SOP?"

"Yeah. 'Thank you for your interest, we cannot legally offer you anything at this time, but we will keep your interest on file. Please check back with us in six months.' It still comes off as a brush-off, but the lawyers won't let us change it."

"We can't even offer to get ahold of them if things change, because then we'd have to tell the government that we have contact information for known criminals and/or fugitives."

"Damned lawyers. Can we make a public statement about that?"

"Put out a press release saying that we can't legally hire felons and fugitives, but we're working on changing that? That we're working with the government to make working for SSS a form of probation and/or community service?"

"Yeah."

"I've tried, but the lawyers shot down even that."

"Lean on them more."

"Yes, sir, boss."

Tom blushed. "Sorry, boss. It's just hard, reading these emails and hearing the voice mails. Some of these guys, you really want to believe that they want to go legit, get out of the life, and they're seeing us as a lifeline, and I have to be the one to tell them no."

"Try telling them 'not yet,' tell them we're working on it, and to not give up hope."

"You know, boss, in your press conference, you brought up a couple of the worst cases – the real wastes of potential – and it really got to me. If we could have gotten to Mysterio before he went bad, and hooked him up with Lucas or Spielberg or even Michael Bay, he'd be a millionaire today."

Tony smiled "And we'd have our cut."

Tom chuckled. "That goes without saying, of course." Then he got serious again. "Which brings up another point – we're making good money off some of the inventions our people have come up with. Remember Al?"

Tony smiled. "How could I forget? He's the one who came to me. And that was a bold move – using the fake name 'Xander Bell,' when his real name was Allen Belding. Bold, using one so close to his own name, or stupid."

"Anyway, Al's starting to feel a little antsy. He's talked about leaving, going out on his own."

Tony thought for a moment. "Talk to him, see how serious he is. If he's looking for more money or responsibility, we might be able to accommodate him. If he wants to keep more of his rights, tell him we're working on a royalties program where he gets a cut of the sales of his creations."

"Got it."

"But don't go all carrots, Tom. Tell him that if he goes solo, we wouldn't invoke the non-compete clause, but if he tries to go to work for someone else, we just might. Point out that we're also assuming all the liability in case any of his gadgets go haywire, and we have our own people testing the hell out of them to minimize the chances that they do go haywire. We also handle all the marketing and manufacturing, something else he'd have to keep in mind."

"Those are some big sticks, boss."

"Eh, you know how to sell it. You're not trying to scare him, you're just making sure he's fully aware of what going solo will involve. Hell, reassure him that we'd want right of first refusal of anything he comes up with, and we will talk about licensing the patents, or buying them outright, but we won't help him go to a competitor and setting up a rival company."

"I think I can spin that. I can also play up how he'll have to sell himself to the public, and how he really doesn't want any attention. He'll have to use his real name on the paperwork, and that'll put him – and his family – on the public's radar."

"Not everyone handles the spotlight equally, Tom. I thrive in it, but it's definitely not for everyone."

"God knows I'm glad you don't put me in that position, boss."

"If you wanted it, you could have it, Tom. But I'm not going to push anyone into it. For one thing, I hate to share the glory." Both men smiled.

"So, is that about it? Nothing big on the horizon – either good or bad – that I should know about?"

Tom settled back. "No, not really. Nothing that I think needs your personal attention. We're doing OK, things are quiet, we've got good clients, we're building up a decent reputation. I'm thinking we might even break even by our first anniversary."

Tony pulled out another sheet of paper. "Hmm. Well, according to my secret projections, they say that... I can't tell you." And he shoved the paper into the disintegrator. (Tony didn't trust ordinary shredders for his most sensitive papers.)

Tom shook his head. "Sometimes you're a real jerk, boss."

Tony grinned. "It was blank, anyway. Like I'd have the real figures here where you might see them."

Both men stood and shook hands. "Keep sending me those regular reports, Tom. I don't always answer them, but I always read them. Well, I might not read them, but they are read, and I get summaries. Most of the time."

Tom shook his head. "You really need to work on that whole 'supportive boss' thing, boss."

"So I've been told. Someday I might even get around to it."


	5. Chapter 5

Tony Stark looked across his desk. "Tom, we just had our six-month meeting three weeks ago. You're not the type to waste my time, so give me the short version: is this really good news, or really bad news?"

Tom shrugged. "It's kinda bad news, but not major. Just the kind of thing you ought to know about immediately." He paused. "We got hacked."

Tony perked up. "Hacked? Someone got into our servers for Stark Super Solutions?"

"Yup. And they went straight for the personnel records. Grabbed everything we had."

"So what did they get?"

Tom grinned viciously. "A bunch of videos. Wilson Fisk in the sauna. Wade Wilson trying on various X-Women's costumes. The Wendigo at dinner time. And Wyatt Wingfoot's colonoscopy."

Tony smiled back. "So, they hit the fake server on 'W' week. But Wyatt Wingfoot? How'd you get his colonoscopy video? And why?"

Tom looked down bashfully. "Truth to tell, it's just some random colonoscopy video. We assigned it to Wingfoot to fill out the 'W' quota. No one was brave enough to use anything from Wolverine in case he found out, everyone likes the Wasp too much to get her mixed up in this, and Wizard and Wonder Man would be boring."

Tony shook his head. "I really, ,really don't want to know how you came up with 26 different sets of nightmare fuel videos to distract any would-be hackers. I have a hunch if I did find out, I'd have no choice but to fire you and turn you over to the authorities. And that doesn't even begin to cover how you would have got those videos..."

Tom shrugged. "What you don't know, you don't have to explain under oath, boss."

"Still, this isn't something we can let go unanswered, Tom. Who was it?"

"Well, we kept them on line as long as we could. Those videos are padded and encrypted, and we have sniffers on the lines that kick in immediately, but there's no way of absolutely knowing who was at the other end. It could have been any number of groups, using any number of layers of false flags, coming in through..."

"Tom."

Tom gave up. "AIM. I can't prove it, but I know it. I'm 99% confident in that."

Tony nodded. "Standard procedure, then."

"Already done. Every scrap pulled together, absolutely critical info about us redacted, and the rest passed on to SHIELD. As per our deal with them, we'll get a summary of what they do about it within a week or so."

"Good. Keep me posted. Anything else?"

Tom winced. "Maybe. I'm getting vibes that Dave might be getting a little hero itch."

Tony's smile vanished. "That's not good. What's he done?"

"Nothing big... yet. We have plausible deniability, but there was a high-speed police chase that happened to end up near him when he was working a job. The cops are curious why the fleeing bad guy's car just stopped for no apparent reason right near where Dave was, but aren't looking in the gift horse's mouth too closely. Also, he wasn't in uniform, so there's little reason for anyone to suspect anything."

"You think it's gonna be a problem in the future?"

Tom shrugged. "Again, there's no way to be certain. It could be a little more residual guilt from his hitman-wannabe phase, but my gut says that Dave's got too good a head on his shoulders. This was a fluke, and while he might have reacted on instinct, his instincts were good enough to do it with enough subtlety and avoid any attention. I think if I give him the standard 'you done good, but you were lucky this time – make sure you're just as lucky the next time you break the rules or else' talk, he'll take it to heart."

"Good. I don't want to give the 'so you wanna be a hero, great – go be a hero somewhere else' talk. Although I think he'd be a good match for the X-Men. Just think what he'd do with their 'Fastball Special' maneuver."

Tom whistled. "That'd be something to see. He wouldn't even have to touch Wolverine." Tom glared at his boss. "Thanks a heap, boss. Now I'm going to have that thought stuck in my head – and no way of ever seeing it happen." 

Tony laughed. "Rank has its privileges, Tom." He then turned serious again. "Sounds like you have things well in hand, and you kept me informed just like you're supposed to. Good job. Now get back to work."

Tom stood and headed for the door. "I'll pass along what I get from SHIELD on the hackers. Wanna put a bet on it being AIM or someone else?"

"No chance. I know about your 'hunches.' That's how you got three of your last raises, as I recall."

"Four, actually, but who's counting?"

"Get out of here, you con artist."


End file.
